I won't pretend to smile
It is hard to love a stone.
In the village churchyard she lies,
Dust in is her beautiful eyes,
No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs;
At her feet and in her head,
Lies a slave to attend the dead,
But their dust is white as hers.
Was she, a lady of high degree?
So much in love with the vanity,
A foolish pomp of this world of ours?
Or was it cristian charity,
And lowness of humility,
The richest and rarest of all dowers?
Who shall tell us? No one speaks;
No color shoots into those cheeks,
Either of anger or of pride,
At the rude question we have asked;
Nor will the mystery be unmasked,
By those sleeping at her side.
Hererafter?- and do we think to look?
Upon the terrible pages of that book
To find her failings, faults and errors?
Ah, then you will have no cares,
In your own shortcomings and dispairs,
In your own secrets sins and terrors.
My death falls over night as a silent cloak,
Trying to stand i scream, look down to see my knees have broke,
Bring to me all the passion that was never callen,
Demons surround us, crying, we are fallen.
Wiper to all the sprits that have died,
While you fill my vains with cyanide.
In the village churchyard she lies,
Dust in is her beautiful eyes,
No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs;
At her feet and in her head,
Lies a slave to attend the dead,
But their dust is white as hers.
Was she, a lady of high degree?
So much in love with the vanity,
A foolish pomp of this world of ours?
Or was it cristian charity,
And lowness of humility,
The richest and rarest of all dowers?
Who shall tell us? No one speaks;
No color shoots into those cheeks,
Either of anger or of pride,
At the rude question we have asked;
Nor will the mystery be unmasked,
By those sleeping at her side.
Hererafter?- and do we think to look?
Upon the terrible pages of that book
To find her failings, faults and errors?
Ah, then you will have no cares,
In your own shortcomings and dispairs,
In your own secrets sins and terrors.
My death falls over night as a silent cloak,
Trying to stand i scream, look down to see my knees have broke,
Bring to me all the passion that was never callen,
Demons surround us, crying, we are fallen.
Wiper to all the sprits that have died,
While you fill my vains with cyanide.